Page 144 of The Fake Divination Offense
“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” I cut him off. “And everything you did for my boyfriend. Supporting someone of demonic ancestry will go a long way toward soothing tensions between the Urzoth church and Galaxrien followers, won’t it? It’ll show that the church is about more than rivalries and violence, which is what you wanted out of this arrangement all along.”
Drach’s mouth bobbles. His cheeks redden. “I suppose. But you cannot deny that Urzoth gave you the strength to stop the cult.”
My smile is stiff. “I won’t deny it. But I also won’t give Urzoth credit for what I did. I hope we can all move on.”
I put emphasis on the last words.
Drach bristles. Cameras flash, reminding us we’re in public, and, thankfully, Treva swoops in.
“Excuse me,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I need to pull Mr. Monroe away for interviews.”
Drach huffs and stomps off.
My parents still haven’t said anything, and my stomach sours with apprehension.
Part of the reason I put off doing this for so long is that I didn’t want to lose them. But I was losing myself the longer I held on. It feels like I canbreatheagain. For the first time, maybe, in almost a decade.
“Give me a sec?” I ask Treva, who smiles politely and steps to the side.
My mom’s eyes get teary and she digs in her purse to pull out—a stack of letters?
“Alexo—” She stops. “That isn’t his name, is it?”
“Bel,” I correct.
“Bel.” She sniffs and flips through the papers. “He’s been sending me letters. One a week, since our lunch.”
My brows go up. He has? Why?
She holds them to her chest. “They all gush about you. He’d tell me how strong you are, all these little things you’d do for him. And I would like to—” She stops, tips her head, her smile watery. “I’d like to understand, Orok. Can we talk about your decision?”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
Mom brushes the letters lovingly. “If you can inspire such a strong reaction in someone, I want to understand what you’ve been going through.”
My eyes drop to the letters. I trust that Bel didn’t tell my mom anything I wouldn’t want her to know about, and I’ll absolutely interrogate him about the letters’ contents later. Preferably when we’re both naked and I can make sure he knows how gods-damned grateful I am to have him in my life.
Throat swelling, I nod. “Yeah. Maybe I can bring Bel out for a visit soon?”
“Oh, I’d love that.Wewould. Wouldn’t we?”
She elbows my dad, who’s been watching us, but in his usual quiet way.
He grunts. “Yes, dear. Of course.”
I hug them both, letting myself gulp in a few more of those deep, cleansing breaths that I can feel through my entire body.
The next few hours are a whirlwind of interviews, photos, and PR junkets, followed by several parties Bel and I get shuttled to along with most of the team. No one bats an eye at Bel’s demon form or says anything about the cult ritual beyondFuckers got what they deserved.
I spend every moment holding Bel as close as possible. There won’t be one photo of me that doesn’t have him in it, and vice versa. We’re a package deal, and I want any lingering cultists to knowthat. If they still have it in their minds to come after him, they have to go through me.
By the time Bel and I stumble back to our apartment, we’re nearly asleep on our feet. I reactivate the wards as soon as the door locks behind us, and the two of us stand in the dim foyer, staring at each other.
It’s over.
Or itmightbe over—we won’t know until we give the cultists a few months, see if there’s any activity. But even if there is, Bel’s out, no going back. I renounced Urzoth, also no going back.
We’re free.
